


His Fugitive Love

by inevitablethief



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Romance Novel, Beach Sex, Beaches, Dean in a corset, Demons, Destiel Harlequin Challenge, Euphemisms, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Nephilim, Non-Penetrative Sex, Past Castiel/Meg Masters, South Carolina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 07:25:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11458830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inevitablethief/pseuds/inevitablethief
Summary: Charleston, 1799: A son of Southern gentility, Dean Winchester has left behind a potential scandal at home in Virginia for the home of his godfather in South Carolina.  Bedridden with a broken leg, Bobby asks Dean to perform an important task: he must deliver a packed horse to an old friend’s son—who also happens to be an escaped convict charged with murdering his wife!  The plan goes awry, and Dean finds himself fleeing Castiel Milton’s foes, riding into the night with the fugitive.  Defying all logical thought, Dean finds himself drawn into Castiel’s tale of a dangerous enemy and a supernatural world Dean could have only dreamt about.  As attraction blossoms between the two men, they head out on a daring adventure along the coastline of South Carolina with their pursuers close behind.  Can Dean help Castiel defeat the dangerous supernatural force that threatens them?  Or will the passion that ignites between them prove their weakness?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Destiel Harlequin Challenge. It's been so much fun to try a different style! I've got to give thanks to the mods for this challenge for all their hard work! I'd also like to give a shout-out to [this](https://laurelclarke.wordpress.com/2014/08/18/sexy-thesaurus-romance-erotica-words/) blog post for providing me with all the romance novel euphemisms for man parts.
> 
> My original prompt from _The Scent of Jasmine_
> 
> _Would you risk your life — on the love of a lifetime?_  
>  _Charleston, 1799: A daughter of Southern gentility and a gifted painter, Catherine Edilean Harcourt has no lack of suitors at home in Virginia, waiting to fulfill her dream of marriage and family. But Cay’s adventurous spirit, fostered by growing up with her three brothers, is piqued while visiting her godfather in South Carolina. Bedridden with a broken leg, he asks Cay to fill in for him on an urgent task: on her way to a fancy dress ball, she must deliver a packed horse to an old friend’s son — who also happens to be an escaped convict charged with murdering his wife! Cay agrees to the plan, which doesn’t go at all as planned… whereupon she finds herself fleeing Alexander McDowell’s captors, riding blind into the night with the fugitive Scotsman. Through she should fear him, Cay finds herself overwhelmingly attracted to Alex, and drawn into his tale of misguided justice and his innocence as they seek refuge in the steamy Florida everglades. Will trusting him be the worst mistake of her life? Or will falling in love be the salvation both of them have been looking for?_

Dean Winchester stood in front of the mirror in his dressing-room, smoothing his hands over his chest and stomach. Behind him, his valet held his coat ready; it had been let out, but he knew it would still be tight in the shoulders. The softness of his belly, born from his too oft fondness for peach pies, was constrained by the stays underneath his waistcoat. If his brother, Sam, could see him trussed up like Mrs. Harvelle at Jo’s fifteenth birthday party, he’d never let Dean live it down.

Dean slipped his arms into the coat; it still inhibited any movement of his arms above his chest. He’d already secured Miss Braeden for three dances; he’d make a fool of himself at her side. There was nothing to be done about it, however, so he dismissed his man and took his mask from the table. It tied with a ribbon around his head, but he would have Miss Braeden attach it before they arrived at the Fitzgerald’s for the fancy dress ball. It was an honor to escort her, but he needed to hurry, or their plan to be fashionably late would become very late. One last press of the powder puff to his face and his tricorn hat atop his head, and he made his way downstairs.

He’d stepped down the last stair when he heard Bobby calling for him. Bobby was holed up in the drawing room, which had become his center of operations since Dean had been staying with him. Dean’s godfather had broken his leg—under mysterious circumstances he still hadn’t shared—and Dean was staying with him in Charleston to aid him with the day to day running of his estate. If it took Dean away from a potential scandal in Virginia, that had only been a perquisite to his parents.

“I need a favor, son,” Bobby drawled gruffly.

“I need to leave,” Dean countered. “Miss Lisa Braeden is waiting on me to escort her. I’m to be at her door not a quarter of an hour from now.”

“I’ll send the carriage on ahead to collect Miss Braeden.”

Dean prepared an argument, but one look at his godfather’s stern expression, and he knew it would fail. Thus, he found himself astride his horse in his fine silk suit, leading a second horse, a strong bay gelding. He hadn’t thought to ask what was in the overstuffed saddle bags, and they swayed ominously as the horse trotted behind him. The sun was low in the sky, so Dean squinted to read the hand drawn map Bobby had given him. The route took him in the opposite direction of the ball and the lovely lady he was to have had the pleasure of escorting.

In the waning light, Dean missed a turn, and had to hop off his horse to turn Baby around, patting her black flank in encouragement. “This is stupid, girl, I know. I should be dancing right now.”

Baby neighed in reply, which was kind of her. Sometimes it felt like she was his only friend in Charleston. 

Once he was on the right path, reseated on his beloved horse, he could see the Milton house down the road. The family kept to themselves for the most part. Miss Anna Milton had attended only one ball since Dean had arrived two months prior. She was a pale girl with bright red hair, but her luminous eyes had been beguiling. Dean would have danced with her, but she wasn’t dancing that night. He knew there’d been a recent scandal in her family, something involving a brother, that he hadn’t bothered to learn the gossip about. They had a large, beautiful home, however, and if they had been more involved in society, Dean would have asked to bring his painting supplies and paint their beautiful house and the rows of live oaks that lined the path to it. 

It was a surprise to Dean that he turned left at the next crossroads according to Bobby’s map. The narrow road would take him onto the Milton’s land for sure, since they were one of the largest plantations in the area. He’d never be seen from the main house, but he passed by the stables—if he was delivering a horse to a family with a hundred horses, he was going to hide Bobby’s crutch—and other small buildings where lit candles created soft glows in the windows.

Baby nickered uneasily, and Dean patted her neck. “Shh, girl, don’t fret. We’re safe here, I promise.”

The road finally ended in a row of dilapidated, seemingly empty shacks near the pecan orchards. Dean’s instructions were to tie the horse up and leave, but as he was untying the lead from Baby, a noise spooked her and she reared, knocking Dean to the ground. He felt his coat rip as he stuck out an arm to catch himself, and his stays twisted painfully.

“Whoa, whoa,” a deep voice said, calming Baby and taking the dropped lead from the second horse.

A musket ball whizzed past Dean and lodged itself in the fence rail next to him. Another spooked the horses, and the newcomer had to deal with them. Dean scrambled for cover, but the stranger was still trying to calm the horses. He felt a momentary surge of gratitude to him for protecting Baby, before remembering that he was the likely target of the approaching enemy rather than Dean. Unless Miss Braeden had sent her brothers to seek restitution for dishonoring her by shirking his escort duties.

Suddenly a hand on his shoulder turned Dean over and pulled him to his feet. He got his first look at the stranger in the moonlight: strong thighs clad in buckskin breeches, a dark coat over broad shoulders. He was not quite as tall as Dean, but he made a commanding presence.

Without looking back at Dean, he mounted the second horse. “Can you ride?”

“Yes, I…” Dean stuttered.

“To the river,” the stranger barked, then spurred his horse into a full gallop and sped down the road Dean had travelled. Dean mounted baby uneasily and took off after him.

Dean could hear the sound of hoofbeats behind him, but their pursuers had stopped firing at them. The stranger veered left, following the road, but if he was a local, he’d know the best route to the river. Dean, however, knew little more than the river was to the east. Instead of following the other man and risk getting lost or caught by their pursuers, Dean went forward into an orchard of ripening apricots. The hoofbeats didn’t follow. Dean breathed a sigh of relief, even as the trees narrowed around him. They were so overgrown that Baby couldn’t maneuver, so he had to dismount and lead her through the trees. His fine heeled shoes slid in the mud, and he knew he was not making it to the ball in his condition. He had dirt down his front and probably his back as well, his coat was ripped at the shoulder, his stays were twisted and broken, his stockings were torn, and he’d lost his hat when he’d fallen. He wasn’t certain why he was even following the stranger to the river, except that his curiosity was  
piqued as much as his life was threatened.

After a long trudge through the orchard, Dean reached the banks of the river. He let Baby get a drink, tying her lead to a tree, while he wandered along to find the other man. He upset a flock of ducks floating in the marshy bank, but no sign of either the stranger or their pursuers. When he returned to where Baby was tied up, the man in question was petting her and murmuring softly as the bay gelding grazed next to her. 

The other man whipped around at the sound of Dean’s footsteps. “Were you followed?” he demanded.

“No,” Dean answered. “They kept after you.”

“You’re certain?” In the rising moonlight, Dean could see the other man with more clarity. He was most certainly a gentleman; his dark coat was fine and cut for him. His face was handsome, his profile strong, but he was frowning at Dean in consternation. 

“Yes. Are you certain they didn’t follow _you_?”

“I know this area better than they do. I am certain.”

“Why were they following you?” Dean demanded. 

“I killed my wife,” the man answered simply.

“Why aren’t you imprisoned?” Dean asked, taken aback. His stomach twisted. He had thought Bobby was someone he could trust, not someone who would collude with murderers.

“I escaped.”

Dean recoiled from the other man. The moon shifted and he no longer looked handsome, but suspicious and dangerous in the increasing darkness. “And I helped you to do so again?! They were coming to take you back to prison where you belong!”

“No,” the man said forcefully. “Those men were not my jailers. While they would not pass up an opportunity to kill me if it arose, they do not want me. They want this.”

He drew from his coat a gleaming silver blade, longer than a dagger, thicker than a sword, with no cross-guard. Dean had never seen anything like it, and even the other man stared at it with reverence.

“What is it?”

“A family heirloom—the only reason I dared come back. It’s the only thing that can kill them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stays is an 18th century term for a corset (also called bodies). While stays dropped out of fashion for (young, slender) women around 1795 (which saw a shift from the rigid conical bodices of the previous several hundred years), there is historical evidence of men wearing them (as well as padding), to achieve the slim waists and muscular legs of the ideal male form of the time. (Misha's thighs were made to live in buckskin breeches...sigh.)


	2. Chapter 2

“Them?” Dean asked, taken aback by the stranger’s words. A blade like that would kill any man. “Those men?”

The stranger ignored him, tucking the weapon back into his coat. “Is there food?” he asked, pointing at the saddle bags.

“I didn’t pack,” Dean shrugged. 

The stranger waded through the muck to where the bay was gnawing on marsh grass and began to rummage in one of the saddle bags. He pulled out a small paper bundle and unwrapped it to reveal several journey cakes. “God Bless Bobby Singer,” he sighed, taking a large bite. He held out the bundle to Dean, offering him one of them. 

“No, thank you,” Dean demurred, but he found the other man humanized by his generosity.

“It’s still warm,” the stranger commented with a full mouth. He swallowed thickly and produced a bottle from the bags; Dean recognized it as the cider Bobby had served him the night before. The man took a long swig from the bottle. “I couldn’t steal food from the house; I was fortunate that Anna was able to get word to Bobby.”

“You’re the scandalous brother,” Dean blurted out.

He could just make out the other man’s glare in the darkness. “Yes—Castiel. Didn’t Bobby tell you who you were aiding? Aren’t you one of the men?”

“What men? I’m Dean Winchester from Virginia. Bobby is my godfather.”

Castiel sighed. “Bobby should have come himself if he was going to send a novice.”

“He’s invalided with a broken leg, _Castiel_. I was to be at a ball tonight dancing with Miss Braeden rather than helping a murderer run away from strangers who can only be killed by an enchanted fireplace poker.”

“Is that why you’re dressed as a fop? Or is that your normal comportment?” He gestured to Dean’s ruined court suit with the half empty bottle.

“It is not my _normal comportment_. I wore this to the Governor’s ball four years ago. This is the finest silk, embroidered in England.” In the scrutinizing gaze of young Mister Milton, Dean withered. “It _has_ seen better days.”

Castiel took another long gulp, then tucked the half-drunk bottle of cider back into the saddle bag and wiped his mouth off with the sleeve of his coat. “Yes, well, we should be off. I believe my pursuers were sufficiently led astray, but they will regroup. The river isn’t deep here; the horses will have no problem crossing. We must stay away from the roads; _their_ night vision is excellent.”

“Do you know the way back to Singer Place?” Dean asked. He had lost his map in the chaos, though it would have been of little aide if the roads were too dangerous.

Castiel let out a strangled cough. “If I were to take you to Bobby’s, it would put a great many people at risk. Why do you think he sent a stranger to deliver me a horse? I wouldn’t put my family in danger, and I won’t put our friend in danger either.”

“I think a madman might do many things to avoid capture,” Dean countered. “Lies and fabrications are functions of the criminal mind.”

A bird cawed in the darkness, its wings fluttering through the apricot trees. The two men started at the sound.

“There’s no time,” Castiel whispered, drawing near. His handsome face caught the moonlight, making him look otherworldly and dangerous. “These are not the sheriff’s men, nor are they ordinary outlaws. Your life would mean nothing to them.”

“And it means something to a murderer?”

“Yes,” he answered simply. He had the look of honesty on his face, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

“I…” Dean hesitated. It was all too impossible to believe.

“Your godfather trusts me,” Castiel said, as he leaped onto his own horse gracefully. “To _your_ detriment. Bobby knew that this was a dangerous task, and, yet, here you are.”

Castiel was correct; Bobby would not have sent Dean to help if he did not think Castiel was worthy of his aide. Perhaps Castiel was a madman and a murderer, but Bobby was not. It was enough of a reassurance to spur Dean onto his horse and to follow Castiel across the river.

* * *

They had been riding all night with no more than a few minutes rest for the horses’ sake. Dean knew enough to know that his godfather’s home was far behind them and that he was riding off into unknown lands with a known criminal. And yet, the sun was beginning to rise, and with it came a more complete look at his companion. 

The awakening sun paled when compared to his handsome countenance. God could not have given the face of an angel to a murderer and criminal. His eyes, no longer shrouded in the darkness of night, were the color of the very sky above them, his lips soft and bowed seductively, his nose straight, and the whole of his face was crafted so that it was both the height of masculine beauty and the most delicate of arrangements.

“Why are you staring?” Castiel asked with a frown. The curious set of his brow only succeeded in making him more fine-looking.

Dean blanched. “You are eating like a pig,” he lied.

Castiel ceased, a peach poised halfway to his mouth. “It has been months since I had a good meal. Rice gruel every day; twice a week, they’d serve ox-head stew and potatoes. Some days, I would pick the worms out of my bread ration as my only meat. I suffered for months, but there was a bush of bullbrier at the far end of the yard, and, once spring had arrived, I collected greens. I wept at the first taste. I began to plot my escape that day.”

Dean let out a strangled laugh. “You escaped from prison for food?” he gasped, though he likely would have done the same.

“No.” Castiel fixed him with a scrutinizing glare. “I escaped because I did not kill my wife; I killed a monster with her face. I would do it again.”

Castiel returned to his breakfast, and Dean knew that the conversation was over. Dean was a rational man; spooks and stories held no power over him. If Castiel believed he had banished a dark spirit, then that would make him not culpable of his crime, if only because he was, indeed, a madman.

In the light of day, other things came to Dean’s attention. His fine silk suit, his best despite its fit, was ruined. His stays were still twisted, and he shifted in discomfort in hopes of fixing them unnoticed.

If we are to travel by daylight, you must find something less distinctive to wear,” Castiel said, proving that Dean’s attempts at subtlety had failed. “We shall come to a plantation house soon; this is the Chambers’ land. They’re good people.”

“Says the convict.”

“They’re associates of Bobby Singer. Haven’t you yet realized that things are not as simple as your sheltered existence would have you believe? Your parents are also associates of Bobby Singer.”

They rode through fallow fields until the plantation house loomed ahead as Castiel had promised. They did not come to the front door like formal callers, but went around to one of the side buildings. Castiel took out a flint and striker from the saddle bag, and struck sparks into a sconce set into the wall. The flames that burst to life were an eerie shade of green.

“It’s a signal,” Castiel explained. “Someone in the house will see it and know we are here.”

True enough, it was not a quarter of an hour before a young lady in a fine muslin dress emerged from around the main house. She regarded them with suspicious eyes.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“We’re associates of Bobby Singer’s—from Charleston.”

“And?”

Dean gestured to his ruined clothes. He’d been able to brush off the worst of the dust, but his coat was still in tatters. “I’m in need of new garments, please.”

“Food and board,” Castiel added. “A good meal would be much appreciated. Our supplies were not allotted for two, and we have not slept this last night.”

Dean turned to his companion. “I did not ask to accompany you. You forced me.”

“For your own safety,” Castiel countered.

“Which was only in peril by your doing.” Dean poked the other man in his chest, noting it was strong and firm.

The young girl looked between the two men, scrutinizing their interactions, as if their bickering held the validation of their truthfulness. “We will help you,” she said finally. “Though father does not invite hunters into the house.”

“We’re not—“ Dean started, but a hand pinching his side silenced him.

“Take your horses past the oak trees. You’ll find a small outbuilding beyond. What you need will be brought there.”

She flounced off towards the house. Castiel gestured the way, where they could see the mentioned oak trees in the distance.

Dean should not have felt as much apprehension as he did.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel didn’t open any of the windows in the little house, despite there being two large ones along the front wall. He lit an oil lamp with his flint and steel, a mirror behind it bringing light to the room. There was a bed tucked along one wall, curtains drawn, and a long table in the middle. Along the opposite wall, a row of muskets hung above a collection of knives.

“Who are these people?” Dean asked, eying the weapons warily.

“They are hunters.”

That was little help; Dean’s own father had taken him out shooting turkeys and other game as soon as he was old enough to hold a musket. The young girl had also assumed they were hunters, thus leading them into what must be a hunting cabin. 

“What shall we do after departing here?”

Castiel regarded him with a scrutinizing gaze. “I shall continue to head north. You are going to rely on the hospitality of the Chambers for a while longer.”

“What are you going to do?”

“There are friends who will take me in. Together we shall launch an army.”

“You are a madman,” Dean uttered. And yet, his thoughts were not on Castiel’s insanity, but on his safety.

Castiel advanced on him; he was close enough that Dean could feel his warm breath against his face. “They have eyes as black as coal. Muskets and knives have no effect on them, they continue on as if unwounded. They do not bleed. Their souls are tainted by the devil himself. A being such as that cannot be abided.”

“Did you love her?” Dean asked. “Your wife?”

If Castiel was going to answer the question, Dean had not the opportunity to find out, as the meal arrived, along with the clothes Dean had requested. Dean cleaned himself up, washing off the remnants of his cosmetics, but did not change into the new clothes as he would have liked.

Castiel still ate like a starved man, shoving ham, hardboiled eggs, salmagundi, bread, and cheese down his gullet without ceremony. Dean indulged as well, but ate like the gentleman he was, being sure to leave room for the peach pie.

His stomach full, Dean’s gut pushed uncomfortably at his stays. The neatly folded pile of clothes in the corner called to him.

“Turn around,” he commanded.

“I’m sorry?” Castiel narrowed his eyes again.

“I’m to change.” Dean collected the borrowed clothing, clutching the beloved items to his chest.

“Very well,” Castiel acquiesced, turning to face the armory wall.

Dean removed his ruined coat, its fine fabric to be a repayment for the Chambers’ generosity despite its tears. His waistcoat was intact, so it would make a fine gift. He undid the fall of his breeches, letting them tumble to the ground around his muddy shoes. As it was warm, he did not wear drawers, and he glanced behind him to check that Castiel was not watching as he stepped out of the shoes and breeches.

His stays, however, proved a more difficult endeavor. Bobby’s man had laced them for him the night before, but Dean couldn’t reach the laces on his own. 

“Castiel,” he croaked. “I need to ask your assistance.”

“May I turn around?” 

“Yes.” Dean’s impatience grew. The whalebone had cracked in places, likely the cause of his discomfort as they dug into him. He wanted the vile thing off and, preferably, burned.

Castiel didn’t say a word, and he moved like the wind, for Dean had not even realized he had assented before he felt a hand on his back. Castiel’s hands were assured as they untied the bow, letting the loose ends fall as he carefully tugged at each lace. Somehow the act was more intimate than lacing them had been; Cas’s breath was warm on the back of Dean’s neck. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if Castiel had helped his demon wife like this before taking her to bed.

Dean felt an immediate rush of relief as his stays loosened, the euphoria settling low in his stomach. Castiel kept on with his gentle unlacing, his body heat close against Dean’s back. The heady sensations converged below the waist, and Dean found himself becoming engorged at the touch of a man.

He pulled away from Castiel.

“Dean?” he questioned, letting the laces drop as Dean stepped away.

“Thank you,” Dean uttered. “You may turn around again.”

As Castiel complied, Dean slipped the rest of the stays off. He prayed for his arousal to dissipate, but, as he removed his shirt, his member remained turgid. He told himself that it had nothing to do with the other man’s presence, that it had nothing to do with the admiration of his strong thighs or his solid chest. He attempted to deal with his problem by imagining the creatures Castiel had described, but his mind only supplied Castiel between the thighs of his wife. He was too tired from the long night to think rationally; that was his only problem.

“Dean,” Castiel said. “I, too, am going to undress.”

Dean tried to hide his gasp in a cough but was unsure if he had succeeded. His manhood gave a twitch, as Dean croaked out, “Why?”

“Are you not tired?” Castiel asked stoically. “The bed is inviting, the night has been hard, and I have a long journey ahead.”

“No,” Dean exclaimed. He tried further to calm himself, and took a deep breath. “I am not tired. The bed is yours.”

“Dean,” Castiel repeated. There was something about the way he said Dean’s name that worsened the situation. Dean hastily pulled on the lent shirt; it was cut larger than his own, so easily hid his state. How was he to make it go away if Castiel’s very presence incited desire in him! “You have been awake as long as I. You should sleep, but I shan’t make you.”

Castiel crossed the room, his shirt hanging low around his flanks, hiding his manhood and his buttocks from Dean’s eyes. Certainly, Dean had no interest in seeing the intimate parts of another man. Castiel moved apart the curtains on the bed, and climbed inside, closing them behind him.

Once he was alone, Dean couldn’t help but take himself in hand. As silently as he could, he let his fingers caress his manhood, coaxing out shivers of pleasure. It was a sin to be sure, but one he could not help but indulge in. Better a sin such as this than the more sinful act of lusting after another man. As he neared his finish, he cried aloud, spilling over his hand. 

For a brief moment, Dean feared that Castiel had heard him, for the other man made a noise within the confines of his curtained bed. If he did so, however, he did not make himself known, and Dean felt alone once again.

Having cleaned himself appropriately with the pitcher and basin and the old shirt he was leaving behind, Dean put the experience out of his mind. The Chambers had provided a sheaf of paper and a quill and ink, so Dean wrote a letter to Bobby.

_Dearest Bobby,_

_The errand you sent me on was a dangerous one and has taken me on an adventure. Do not fear for my wellbeing for I am unharmed, but unable to return to the safety of your plantation and the comforts I found there. When I return, I shall have quite the story to tell, though no one would believe my words, save for you. Perhaps you shall share a story with me, as well, as I am most curious as to how my journey came to be and your part in it. My companion is a curious one, though I trust him. Perhaps I shouldn’t, but he has the expression of honesty about him and the benefits of your endorsement._

_D.W._

The letter finished, Dean read it over. To his own surprise, he did not tell his godfather he was coming home as Castiel had suggested. His sense of adventure had been piqued, and he intended to see it through. Castiel needed his help. It had nothing to do with the excitement his nether parts had shown for the handsome man. 

It was with this thought that Dean drifted into unconsciousness, face down on the letter he had just written.


	4. Chapter 4

When Dean awoke, it was to a dark room and a soft mattress. There was a warm presence next to him, but Dean was already overly hot and sweating into the linen of his shirt. The oppressiveness of the drawn curtains bore down on him, so he opened them up just enough to allow some fresher air to come through. A sliver of light from the still lit oil lamp illuminated the bed. 

Castiel was lying next to him, still asleep, twitching restlessly as if nightmares marred his slumber. With what Dean knew he had witnessed and done, it would be little surprise. His shirt bunched up around his hips from his stirring, exposing his manhood where it lay soft against his thigh to Dean’s gaze. He’d seen other men’s flesh before, diving into the river on a hot summer’s day and then lying in the sun letting their skin dry off. It had never before filled him with such fascination, however. Dean longed to touch, to feel the other man’s member fill in his hand.

A sudden crash of glass drew his attention away from the other man. Castiel stirred, but he didn’t wake, as he was too deep in sleep. Dean carefully parted the curtains and stepped out into the room. A young lady was turned away from him, facing the armory wall. Her hair was dark, but her simple dress was not the fine muslin of Miss Chambers. She turned around at Dean’s footfalls, and her face was unfamiliar. She did not start, nor did she seem afraid of being caught by Dean.

“Where is it?” she asked, advancing on Dean as though she meant to attack him. “None of these can kill us.” She gestured behind her to the wall of muskets and knives.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Ruby,” she answered with a sneer. “The murderer killed my sister, Meg.”

“Are you one of them?” Dean asked, though he still was not certain he believed _they existed_. His opinion was changed, however, when, by way of answer, her eyes flashed the deepest black.

“’Zounds,” Dean exclaimed, backing away from the monster.

“Give it to me now, and I will spare you,” she warned.

“You’re alone?” he asked.

“I followed you. I know how to sneak. The others were fooled by Castiel”—she spat out the name like it was poison—“but I know not to underestimate his kind. They will find him eventually, and they will kill everyone.”

“I won’t,” Dean stammered. “I won’t give him up.” 

He grabbed the first thing his hand could find on the table, and threw it at the demon woman. It turned out to be the salt cellar, and, as it hit her, the salt sprayed out in all directions, raining on her face. She screamed and clutched at her face, as if the salt had burned her flesh. In a single swift movement, she grabbed at one of the daggers on the wall and swung it at Dean, slicing through his chest from shoulder to waist. He howled in pain, clutching the injury and dropping to the table.

“Give it to me,” Ruby demanded once more, her scalded face making her all the more menacing.

“Here it is,” a deep voice said from the other side of the room. Dean looked over, blinking his eyes against the pain, to see Castiel standing in front of the bed, silver blade twinkling in the light from the oil lamp.

“Castiel,” Ruby spit out.

Dean watched dimly as they fought, his hands covered in his own blood. Castiel was like a flame in the wind as he moved, flashes of light as his blade slashed against Ruby. Finally, he thrust the blade into her neck and she stilled.

“Dean,” Castiel called from miles away. “Dean!”

Darkness was overtaking Dean as life slipped out of him. He could distantly feel Castiel’s hand upon his wound, but it was as if he were watching a shadow play as an evening’s diversion. Suddenly, the darkness was wiped away by warmth and light, as Dean fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

For the second time that day, Dean awoke in a soft bed without any knowledge of how he got there. He was alone in the bed and the curtains were not drawn; he could see Castiel sitting at the table, eating. Dean let out a groan, and the other man rushed to him.

It was then that Dean remembered his injury. He felt his chest only to find it mysteriously whole underneath his shirt. His wound had been mortal, he was certain. He remembered the glowing light and how his body had filled with its warmth, but he had, at the time, assumed it was his soul ascending into heaven. He had, apparently, been mistaken.

Dean rolled out of bed, placing his feet uneasily on the floor. Across the room, Castiel was staring at him, but made no move to stand up and help him. Dean had so many questions, but he didn’t know where to start. 

“Don’t try to get up; you’re still weak. Your wound may be healed, but you must rest still.”

“How?”

Castiel looked as though he was about to speak, but said nothing. He continued to eat, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it in gravy, pouring a measure of salt from a new salt cellar. Dean pushed himself out of bed and shuffled towards the table. He had to grip the edge to keep himself upright as he took the breeches from the chair. He pulled them up, releasing the laces in back so they would fit. He followed with the stockings and a pair of boots he could have kissed in gratitude.

“You should eat,” Castiel said as Dean neared him. He moved to the chair to his left, taking his plate and cup with him, so that Dean could take the nearer chair.

There was no sign of Dean’s blood or the body of the demon witch who had nearly killed him.

Castiel seemed to understand Dean’s unanswered question, for he answered, “Lee and I cleaned up after the incident.”

“And my wound?”

Castiel sighed. “Eat, Dean. Your strength will return quickly if you would only take care of yourself.”

Dean let out an unhappy sigh himself, but sat down and helped himself to stew and buttered bread. Castiel poured him a glass of cider, which Dean drank down in one long gulp. The liquid helped to fortify him, and he began to eat in hopes that it would further strengthen his body.

“I will set out after finishing my meal. I, too, had to rest and eat to reinvigorate myself.”

“You can’t go, Cas,” Dean exclaimed. “Ruby said they would find you and kill you.”

“I’m not afraid.”

Dean took a long look at the noble profile of his companion. He was as mysterious as the black-eyed beasts that pursued them. “What are you?”

“I’m a man, Dean. Just like you.” He remained implacable even in the face of Dean’s questioning.

“No, you’re not. Ruby said that she knew _your kind_.”

“Men?” Castiel asked through a mouthful of stew. 

“I was dying! I was dying and you—you healed me.”

“Please eat,” Castiel pleaded. “The touch takes much out of me, and can only give so much. Yes, I healed your wound. I _am_ but a man, but in my blood, runs the grace of Heaven.”

“Pardon?” Dean asked. He had not expected Castiel to be a religious zealot.

“Two hundred years ago, an Angel fell. He fell for the love of a woman. That love beget a child, who beget a child, and so on, until my father beget me.”

“You’re an Angel’s scion?” Dean asked, scarcely believing what he was hearing. And yet, he had seen a demon woman’s eyes flash dark.

“The children of hell are my natural enemy,” Castiel continued, nodding. I will not rest until they are all defeated. The blade I carry has been passed down, along with certain gifts, like the healing touch. It was my sister, Anna, who first recognized my wife for what she was, having the gift of sight.”

“I feel light-headed,” Dean gasped. Castiel’s strong hands held his shoulders steady as he stood behind him. It only served to make Dean even dizzier as lust was added to the fury of emotions boiling inside him.

“That is a natural reaction to your wound. I knitted the flesh back together as if it were never broken, but I cannot make it so that the wound never happened. This is why you must refresh yourself.”

Dean flushed at Castiel’s concern. “Are you sweet on me?” he joked, flushing deeper at his own suggestion.

“No, I—” Castiel stammered, a flush coloring his cheeks as well. “I am concerned for all human life.” He hadn’t yet removed his hands from Dean’s shoulders, but instead began to knead the flesh there. “That’s why it is best if you stay behind.”

“I’m not staying behind while you’re in danger.”

Castiel’s hands stilled. “Yes, you are.”

Dean whipped around to find Castiel frowning at him, brow furrowed and blue eyes narrowed. Dean couldn’t help but find it an endearing look on the other man, mysterious as he might have been. Dean was perhaps an inch taller than him, so they stood nearly eye to eye and were so close that Dean couldn’t decide where to look. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with promise. Dean let his eyes flick down to Castiel’s lips, which were plump and looked soft. He moved imperceptibly nearer, expecting the other man to move away or question his intent, but Castiel’s eyes never left his face and his lips opened ever so slightly.

Dean let his eyes flutter closed in anticipation, moving ever nearer. He could feel Castiel’s breath warm against his mouth, and he knew the moment had come. 

“Oh,” a voice said. Dean opened his eyes and retreated, tripping over the chair he’d been sitting in and falling into it, as Miss Chambers interrupted.

When he looked over at Castiel, it was as if they were strangers again.


	5. Chapter 5

“Mr. Milton,” Miss Chambers said, not without awkwardness. “Your horse is ready.” Dean did not know what she had seen, or, even, what Castiel had experienced himself. What Dean did know was that he had attempted to kiss Castiel right on the mouth like a lover. He had only kissed one young woman, and that had contributed to her ruined reputation and for Dean to be unfairly sent away. What would his parents have thought had they seen him in the same situation with a man?

“Is my horse ready, as well?” Dean asked.

“I had been told that you would be staying with us some time longer, Mr. Winchester.”

“The plan has changed.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Castiel countered testily. 

“Please have my horse prepared,” Dean addressed Miss Chambers, ignoring Castiel frowning next to him. “And as much salt as you can spare.”

Miss Chambers nodded and left, murmuring, “Good riddance,” as she did so.

Dean pointedly ignored his companion, taking the rest of the clothes that had been left for him so many hours and events before. He straightened his shirt, tucking it into his breeches carefully. His waistcoat came next, and, as he buttoned it, he could feel Castiel’s hot eyes on him. Once he had put on the coat, he finally felt like himself again, ready to face the journey ahead.

“Let’s go.”

“Dean…”

“I can help. You must have noticed how the salt hurt Ruby, burning her as if it were embers. Don’t leave me behind.” Castiel only turned to the armory wall, where he took two muskets and several knives to add to their weapons. He handed one of the muskets to Dean, who was struck with an idea. He found a wooden box of paper for cartridges and showed it to Castiel. “We can fill them with the salt and lead shot; it could slow them down.”

Castiel nodded. “My wife eschewed salt on all her food. Indeed, I had wondered about it from the day we were wed.”

Again, Dean asked. “Did you love her?”

This time, however, Castiel answered. “I did—most amorously. Though I know now that she was a chimera created to seduce me, and what love I had faded into nothingness.”

“Do you think you could love again?”

“I do,” he answered with fervent expression and deep emotion.

* * *

They had spent their time until Dean’s horse was saddled filling paper cartridges with a mixture of salt, gun powder, and small shot. Once Miss Chambers had returned with more salt, she had assisted, excited to pass on the useful information to her father. They had soon set off, with new supplies and better weapons.

Side by side they rode, as the sun set and darkness rose. Since settling into an understanding—that had little to do with their near kiss, Dean told himself—they rode in comfortable silence, only the sounds of their horses' hooves and the locust in the trees around them. Since they still eschewed the main roads, they drove their horses through wet, soggy ground, making little progress through the marshes. After many hours, they had to rest the horses again and refresh themselves.

Castiel took a long draught from a bottle of cider and passed it to Dean. He tried not to imagine he could taste the leftover flavor of Castiel’s mouth on the bottle, but it was a lost cause. 

“Why did you insist on coming with me?” Cas asked, as he chewed off a piece of bread.

Dean was, of course, unable to give a true answer, as it would involve admitting his attraction to the handsome man. They could not have been more than five years apart in age; if Dean had been a young lady, he would be just the right age for marrying him. He knew that was an impossibility. Men didn’t marry men. Men also didn’t want to kiss another man on the lips like a lover. If Dean’s father learned about his secret desires, he would have done much worse than send Dean away to stay with Bobby.

“You need me,” Dean answered instead.

“Hardly.”

“I offered you another weapon to fight the demons—from a distance. You only have the one blade. How were you expecting to launch an army with only one weapon?”

“There are others in the hunter community with more experience in these matters; your godfather provided me with contacts who will help,” Castiel explained. He tore off a piece of ham with a knife and offered it to Dean.

“Like me,” Dean grinned, taking the ham slice and biting off a large chunk.

Castiel seemed to think on that point for a moment before frowning. “What do you know of the hunter community?”

“Nothing. I know that my father and Bobby fought in the war together, but my parents have no knowledge of a secret network to fights demons.”

Castiel frowned thoughtfully. “And Bobby? He is most assuredly aware of the supernatural, perhaps he sent you because he wanted you to know the truth.”

“He sent me because he broke his leg.”

Castiel sighed, his eyes rolling back in frustration. “How did he break his leg?”

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. Dean had asked, expecting the answer to be falling off a horse or tripping on the stairs, but Bobby had told him to shut up and mind his own business.

“I would not have allowed you to come if I did not believe hunting to be in your blood.” Castiel began to put the food they hadn’t eaten back in the saddle bags, patting his horse on its flank. “We should be off again.”

Castiel’s insinuations had Dean’s mind reeling. If he believed Castiel—and he did—then it was indeed possible that his parents were also part of the collective of hunters. Every hunting party he was not allowed to accompany his father on, each time his parents went to call on friends only to disappear for days at a time, the odd reality that his mother was as sure a shot with a musket as his father was—perhaps these were not coincidences but indications that his parents were among those who fought the unnatural. And now, thanks to Castiel, Dean could count himself among them.

* * *

By the time the sun was beginning to rise, their path north had taken them to the coast, where the waves were tickled rosy by the sun’s rays. After a long night in the saddle, riding through the humid marshes, Dean couldn’t resist the cool ocean yards away.

“Cas,” he said, and Castiel halted his horse just ahead.

“Demons?” he asked, his voice only just audible above the sounds of the water.

“No,” Dean exclaimed in reassurance. Kowtowed, he explained, “The water—do we have time for a rest?”

“You want to…?”

“Jump in the ocean,” Dean finished.

“Why?” Castiel frowned.

“Because it’s hot, because the water looks cool and inviting, because you’re no longer in prison and I doubt you’ve had a moment of amusement.”

“I—“ Castiel began. “Yes, I’d like that.” The smallest smile brightened his face, and Dean was certain he had never felt this way about any one before.

They led their horses to the edge of the beach, finding a good patch of grasses where they could graze. There was not a dwelling or a person to be seen for miles, so Dean stripped off his coat, his waistcoat and his boots. He couldn’t help his blush as Castiel did the same. Dean then removed his breeches and even his shirt until he was as naked as the day he was born. Again, Castiel followed suit. In the early sunlight, his olive skin glowed pink and orange, making him look as angelic as his family lore suggested. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow, and his legs muscular. There at the center of it all, his manhood was exposed to Dean’s gaze. It seemed to twitch as he stared at it.

They crossed the beach to the water, Castiel rushing ahead of Dean to reach it first. Once there, he seemed to transform into a child again as he waded waist deep in the ocean.

"The water feels wonderful,” he shouted. 

Dean rushed to the water’s edge to join him, stepping into the froth. He watched Castiel dive into the waves, and when he reemerged, his hair stood on end.

“This was your suggestion,” Castiel cried, wading through the water to where Dean was still knee deep.

Dean blushed. “I am content to watch you frolic.”

Castiel took Dean’s hand and pulled him forward, knocking him off balance into the water.

Dean righted himself, knocking water out of his eyes. “I believe that was a mistake,” he smirked. He advanced on his companion, shoving him into the surf.

“You rascal!” Castiel shouted as he pulled himself up out of the water.

Dean gave chase, with Castiel running after him towards the water. Castiel had just nearly reached the shore when a large wave knocked him into Dean. 

“Oof,” Dean exclaimed. Castiel had fallen upon him, cutting off much needed air. “Who needs our unnatural enemy when we cast upon each other like so.”

“Indeed,” Cas replied. His voice had gone hoarse with exertion and lack of air, but he did not move from his place on top of Dean. The waves crashed around them, yet Castiel still did not move.

Dean’s manhood had begun to take interest in the situation, in Castiel’s closeness and the slide of their wet bodies against each other. Castiel let out a sigh, warm and throaty, and Dean suddenly became aware that he was not the only one affected. As if moved by instinct, he thrust up into the other man, catching his stiff rod against the smooth, flat skin of Castiel’s stomach. In doing so, Castiel’s equally engorged manhood slid between Dean’s legs.

“ _Dean_ ,” he moaned.

“Yes,” Dean gasped. “Castiel, I’m yours.”

Castiel’s mouth was within distance of Dean’s lips, so he availed himself of the feast, kissing the man wetly. Castiel’s tongue flicked out, thrusting between his lips even as his manhood thrust between Dean’s thighs. Dean’s parents had long warned him of the dangers of womanhood, but he knew then that they had been mistaken not to warn him of the wanton lust between men. No maiden could compare to the slick slide of Dean’s stiffness against Castiel’s stomach.

Dean narrowed his legs so that Castiel’s glide between them was tighter. He was rewarded with Castiel’s breathy moan and the pleasure of his velvet length grazing the sensitive skin there. The waves crested against the shore, and Dean followed, his shaft thickening and spilling his seed between their bodies. Upon him, Castiel stiffened and poured out his spend between Dean’s creamy thighs.

They lay there to catch their breath, letting the ocean clean the mess from their bodies, until the sun had risen fully in the sky.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean didn’t know what to think. After their experience on the beach, Castiel had treated him like nothing had changed. They’d dressed and resumed their trek northward without a word spoken about it. Dean’s stomach felt empty, though they had remained by the beach long enough to eat breakfast.

“We’re coming to a town,” Castiel said suddenly, after hours of stony silence.

“Should we head inland, then?” Dean asked.

“I thought we’d take a room for the day,” Castiel replied.

“Oh.”

When they came to an inn on the outskirts of the town, Castiel inquired about lodgings.

“I only have one room,” the innkeeper warned.

“That will be fine,” Castiel answered after a brief pause. “We only need a place to wait the day.”

“As you wish.”

As with everywhere they had stayed, Castiel also asked the innkeeper about food. They were promised a midday meal would be brought to their room at once. 

“What?” Castiel asked, as Dean gave him an amused look. They climbed the stairs to the second floor where their room was.

“More food?” Dean teased. “All you have done since we began this journey is eat.”

“Not all I’ve done,” Castiel replied, throwing open the door to their room. “I saved your life, killed my sister-in-law, ravished you like a stallion mounting a mare in heat.”

Dean sputtered to a halt as Castiel dropped the saddle bags by the bed. Dean shut the door behind himself with shaking hands. Castiel had acted like nothing had happened for hours. “You—“ he stammered.

“I assumed, perhaps, that if you were opposed to what had happened between us earlier, you would have raised an objection when the innkeeper only had the one room.” 

“You haven’t spoken a word,” Dean gasped, leaning against the door to keep his knees from collapsing beneath him.

“I was afraid I had taken advantage of your innocence,” Castiel admitted.

Dean, for himself, could not possibly regret such a loss. The whole of Virginia had already thought it lost, in fact. A young woman Dean had been courting had proclaimed herself with child and Dean the father, though he had never lain with her. Her parents tried to force him into marriage, but his parents had sent him away to live with Bobby. “ _Oh_. I thought you regretted it,” he admitted, his heart racing. 

Castiel shook his head, advancing on Dean until they were nose to nose. “ _Regretted it_? You are…” He didn’t finish his sentence, for, instead, he placed his lips upon Dean’s in a kiss. 

He kissed like he fought, flaming hot and brutal, and Dean could feel it in the whole of his body. Unlike their first kiss on the beach during the throws of passion, this was a kiss meant to incite and inflame. They pulled off their coats and dropped them to the floor, tearing off their cravats. Dean could feel the stirrings of his loins as Castiel moved to kiss his jaw and the tender flesh of his neck. He wrapped his hands around the other man, dropping them low to grip at the firm flesh of his buttocks under his breeches. He tugged Castiel towards him so that the firm line of his manhood could rub against Dean where he, too, was engorged. 

“How could”—Castiel paused for a kiss behind Dean’s ear—“you possibly believe”—a nibble on Dean’s ear—“I could regret”—a kiss to the Adam’s apple—“lying with you?”

Dean didn’t answer, instead moving his hands to unbutton the fall of Castiel’s breeches and tugging his shirt out of his waist to expose his stiffened member. Castiel made the entire process difficult as he refused to cease kissing Dean’s neck and jaw. Dean put his hand around Castiel’s arousal; Castiel let out a low hiss, but didn’t stop the attention to Dean’s sensitive skin. 

“Cas,” Dean gasped. “Please touch me.”

“I am… _oh_ ,” Castiel blushed. He pulled away from Dean far enough so that he could undo the fall of Dean’s breeches as well, finally releasing his organ from its buckskin prison. He then pulled Dean’s shirt off entirely, popping the buttons on his waistcoat, so there was nothing encumbering the slide of their lengths against each other.

Dean took them both in hand. The added pressure was the final straw for Castiel and he finished all over Dean’s hand and belly. He immediately dropped to his knees in front of Dean, and put his warm mouth to Dean’s rigid shaft, curving his fingers around the back of Dean’s thigh. Dean had never experienced such pleasure, and it was not long before the tension in his body snapped. He spilled his seed into his lover’s waiting mouth.

Dean leaned heavily against the door to catch his breath, Castiel at his feet.

“Where did you learn that?” Dean gasped.

“My…my wife used to pleasure me thus.”

His words had the effect of the morning sunlight after a night of wine and song. His wife…the wife he’d loved and killed. Dean straightened and moved to the washstand, where he poured water over the filth on his hands and wiped them on a towel, buttoning up his breeches once he was clean.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel said plaintively. “Meg is no threat to you for my affections. Every moment of our marriage was a lie. Her kind were only interested in eliminating my family as a threat to them. Our love was a lie. My love for you is true. As, I believe, is yours for me.”

Dean turned around, wiping the mess from his stomach with the towel. Castiel’s eyes were wet and his countenance sincere. He could only nod in the face of such emotion. 

They were on each other as swiftly as the wind, finding their home in each other’s arms. Their kisses were soft and gentle, rather than the fierce passion of only a few moments earlier.

A knock on the door brought them out of their embrace. “Supper?” Dean asked.

“I suppose.” He was still dressed, whereas Dean’s shirt was crumpled on the floor where Castiel had dropped it. Castiel picked it up to get it out of the way, so he could open the door, handing it and their two coats to Dean. He pulled his shirt over his bare chest, but placed the coats on the bed neatly.

An Englishman greeted him with a brisk, “Good day,” and carried into the room a tray with a dressed goose with apricots and a jug of rum and water. There was a side table where he placed the food, and turned to them hand outstretched, likely to receive a gratuity. Dean found his money bag to draw a few coins.

“Dean,” Castiel warned, just as Dean realized the hand the Englishman was holding out held a dagger.

Castiel rushed back to the door, trying to force it closed against more intruders, but whoever was on the other side was much stronger than him. He was thrown back as four men poured into the room. Dean moved to help him, but the Englishman held his dagger up threateningly. The other men were also armed, and their eyes flashed black like Ruby’s had. If Dean was going to die there, at least he was going to die having known love. 

“I will take the Angel Blade in exchange for your lives,” the Englishman proclaimed. His black-eyed fellows had Castiel held down, but he kicked out with his legs in an attempt to free himself.

“Ruby said you would never spare our lives; she made the same offer.”

“I am Crowley. Ruby and I serve the same master, but his plans are not my own. He was foolish to attempt to take on a family of Nephilim. His time as a leader is done. With the blade I can usurp him,” the Englishman proclaimed; his eyes had turned a deep blood red, eerie and ominous. 

“Tell your compatriots to let Castiel go.”

“No. Even without his weapon, he is a danger to our kind. Who knows what Angelic gifts he has inherited.”

“Dean, give it to him. Save yourself.” Cas stared pointedly at the bed, where their coats were. The Angel Blade was still tucked into Castiel’s sleeve in the pocket his sister, Anna had sewn for him before he’d left with Dean.

“No,” Dean echoed. “He has no reason to keep you alive if I give him the blade.”

If Dean could get the blade to Castiel, they had a fighting chance. They’d had to leave the rifles with the stablemaster, but the rest of the salt was in the saddle bags, and an idea formed.

“Yes,” Dean said, to Castiel’s wide eyes and Crowley’s smug smile. “Let me get it for you.”

When he didn’t go for the coats on the bed but bent over to dig through the saddle bags, he could see Castiel’s surprised expression shift to the calculating, intelligent countenance he was familiar with. Therefore, when Dean removed a handful of salt from the pouch and one of the Chambers’ daggers, Castiel was ready. Dean threw the dagger towards Crowley and the salt at the demons who were holding Castiel down.

They screamed in pain, an otherworldly, terrifying sound, and Castiel was able to free himself, scrambling on hands and knees towards Dean. Once the lovers were reunited, they faced the angry red-eyed demon, who was staring at the knife in his hand.

“This isn’t what I want,” he said with eerie calm. 

Castiel dove towards the bed, grabbing the Angel Blade out of his coat like it was magnetic to his hand. The other demons, however, had recovered from their salt-inflicted wounds and were advancing on the two lovers. Castiel pushed Dean behind him, holding the blade out for protection. Striking out with it, he was able to slice through the arm of the closest demon, but he kept advancing with the rest. They were unstoppable.

Castiel reached behind him with his free hand to grab at Dean’s. “I have never lived like I have lived these last few days. My brief taste of freedom was made all the sweeter by your love,” he said.

Dean blushed even in the face of certain death, but stepped forward to stand with his lover, their hands clasped. If they couldn’t live together, then they would die together.

The sound of musket fire and the smell of gunpowder drew Dean’s attention away from their attackers. Though he couldn’t see what was happening in the doorway, one of their attackers had fallen to the ground. Another shot and another demon fell, and Dean could finally see the faces of their rescuers. Standing in the doorway were Bobby Singer and Rufus, his loyal valet who had only days earlier helped dress Dean for the ball, holding ready the muskets Dean and Castiel had taken from the Chambers’. They each fired another round of shots and took down the last two of the demons. 

“These were a good idea,” Bobby commented, handing his musket to Rufus. 

His demon henchmen taken down, Crowley made a final lunge for the Angel Blade. Castiel, however, was faster, and pressed the edge of the blade against the demon’s neck.

“You oppose your master. Either you live and help us take him down, or you die a merciful death at my hands rather than a traitor’s death at your master’s.”

Crowley gulped, eyeing Castiel suspiciously.

“Work with hunters?”

Castiel nodded. “Or die.”

“Put the blade down, Angel. I’ll help you.”

Bobby and Rufus attached irons to the demon, letting Castiel lower his weapon and throw his arms around Dean.


	7. Epilogue

With the immediate threat out of the way and the demons’ bodies disposed of, Castiel, Dean, Bobby, and Rufus had continued the journey north. It was safe to travel by daylight, but they had stopped to take a meal together.

Bobby and Rufus found Castiel’s appetite as entertaining as Dean did. 

“Slow down,” Bobby laughed.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, leaning into the other man. “You’re free. You don’t have to eat like a starving man.”

Castiel slowed down, savoring each bite instead of gobbling it like a hungry dog. “I’m free,” he repeated, an awed look on his face. “I can never return home, however.”

“Wherever hunters live, you’ll be welcome,” Bobby said. “Though perhaps, you’ll not find the hunters who’re expecting us to be so hospitable any longer.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked as he slowly chewed a piece of bread.

“I ain’t one to judge, boys, but you might want to keep that”—he pointed between the two young men—“discreet once we’re in the public eye.”

“Keep what?” Dean asked, letting his eyes go wide and innocent. Whatever Bobby thought he saw, he had no proof. 

“There you go,” Bobby chuckled. 

Castiel, however, still frowned in confusion. “Why these hunters in particular? Any relationship that flaunts the natural laws would be suspect no matter who the hosts were.”

“True, true,” Rufus chimed in. “But Dean’s parents have already had to avoid a scandal for their son, it’d break their hearts if he got caught buggering in their house.”

Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach. “My parents?”

All this time they’d been heading north to hunters who would take Cas in, start an army for him, who knew more about demons than anyone—was Bobby saying those people were John and Mary Winchester?

“About time you learned where you come from, son,” Bobby said gruffly. “Your father and I were beheading those unworldly Hessians in the Continental Army together. Your mother’s family, the Campbells, are the oldest hunting family in Virginia. No one knows more about the supernatural than your parents.”

“Except perhaps the Miltons,” Rufus added.

They continued discussing prominent hunting families while they finished their meal, but Dean’s mind was on his own. He had imagined himself and Castiel traveling to unknown places and meeting strangers, not Dean’s family. With Dean’s own people, there was no hiding their unusual relationship.

“Dean?” Castiel asked as they were repacking their bags to continue their journey. “Are you unwell?”

“No, I…” Dean patted his horse’s flank, taking comfort in Baby’s familiar smell.

“Are you concerned about your parents? I will keep my distance if that is the case. I have no wish to cause a scandal and hurt you.”

“No,” Dean answered, if only because the idea of giving up Castiel was more painful than losing the good favor of his family. “It will be easier to hide the true nature of our relationship in my parents’ house. I know all the hidden passageways my grandfather added.”

“Then I shall take great care to ravish you in all of them,” Castiel smirked, checking over his shoulder on Bobby and Rufus, then leaning in to place a warm kiss next to Dean’s mouth. Dean shifted just enough so that their lips met in earnest. Castiel let out a pleased grunt and deepened the kiss, his mouth tasting of salt and cider. Dean eventually had to pull away, leaving a trail of saliva between them, like spider’s silk. 

Dean would never think of the night in the same way, not because he now knew what could lurk in the darkness, but because his love would be near. They would find a way, as love always does.


End file.
